People Like Us
by sugarplumdreams
Summary: Shameless kitchen table smut.


**A/N:** For Tumblr user emmaducklingswan (now sheriffswan), who requested kitchen table smut a looooooOong time ago. Thanks for your patience and for your endless flails, you are sweet pea :3 (Posted to Tumblr April 8, 2014.)

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**People Like Us**

_I've been looking at you_

_For a long, long time_

_Just trying to break through_

_Trying to make you mine_

.

.

They haven't had a moment alone in weeks. Between disappearing townsfolk, curses, wicked witches, strategic planning, and everything else — there just hasn't been any time. Throw in another (heartbreaking) loss, a fight with Henry, the final battle and True Love's Kiss (_Jesus fucking Christ_), and Emma was starting to believe that maybe they'd never get a second to themselves again.

She should have known better.

She should have known that he'd be resourceful and finagle some arrangement with Regina to watch Henry for the weekend and to convince David to cover her evening shift on Friday. She also should have known that while he may be her hero, he was still definitely very much a pirate, and that his innocent offer for dinner was actually just a ruse because he never really intended for them to make it past the threshold of her apartment.

She'd have to remember to thank him later.

His tongue moves insistently against hers while his body presses her firmly into her door. She sighs into him, writhing beneath pure masculine heat and muscle while her fingers tangle in his hair. "So much for slow_,_" she murmurs over his lips.

He chuckles and shifts away to pepper kisses lightly along her jaw. "I _am_ going slow."

_Heat_. There is so much _heat_. It's clouding her head and tying her stomach up into huge knots of desire and passion and _Jesus_. "That's not-" She inhales sharply at the scrape of his teeth over the dip where her neck and shoulder meet. _Shit!_ "What I meant."

"Pity," he murmurs, and his lips are trailing over her shoulder.

It was a bad idea to wear the red fucking dress, a really bad idea. She should have worn pants and her leather jacket…or a Goddamned potato sack. Surely they could have kept their hands off of each other long enough to have dinner and _go slow_, if she'd just worn a fucking potato sack.

She can't breathe, her chest is too tight; she can't even think straight, she's too far steeped in him — touch, smell, sight, taste, sound. _Fuck_. All of her senses are in overdrive and if they don't stop she's simply going to combust into a million Emma pieces and she'll be of no use to anyone _ever again_. Alright, so she's exaggerating that last bit but _damned_ if she doesn't feel like that anyway.

"Hook," she croaks out eventually, making him groan in protest as she plants her hands firmly on his chest in an attempt to cease his overly-attentive (and very talented) mouth.

She can feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers along with the erratic beat of his heart and knows that it matches the rhythm of her own perfectly. He rests his forehead against hers but doesn't say anything as they catch their breaths. A laugh bubbles up from her throat as she curls her fingers around the charms on his necklace and tries to anchor herself to him.

"_God_," she pants.

"Killian, actually," he chuckles, and nuzzles his nose against her. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He lifts his head then, gaze meeting hers as he smiles. Her heart skips a beat at the little dimples on the corners of his mouth and she can't resist reaching up to cup his cheek to stroke her thumb over one while the edges of her lips tug upwards. He turns slightly, brushing his mouth against her palm and leans forward to kiss her once more. The gesture is tender and brief, and it makes her chest squeeze while she sighs.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs.

She rolls her eyes but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck and warming her face. "You might be slightly biased."

"Hardly," he replies, lips pressing into the dent in her chin. "_You are bloody stunning_." He nips playfully, teeth scraping against skin, and she shudders beneath him. "Long-limbed, curved lines, sunshine-kissed hair…Siren's eyes…you could make a man daft with wanting."

Her grip tightens on his necklace and her stomach flips at his words — _Jesus_. He exhales heavily, hesitates over her, body tense with need and restraint, and she realizes that hers is the same. They are never going to make it out of the apartment at this rate, though she'd be lying if she didn't admit to herself that there was a large part of her that didn't _want_ to.

"Emma-"

"_Hook_."

His chuckle is almost pained as he brushes his lips over her forehead. "As you wish…dinner, then?"

She inhales on a shaky breath when he backs away, missing his nearness and warmth as soon as he's gone. Everything inside of her is screaming for him, _wanting_ him, and as he stares at her with his flushed cheeks and kissed-swollen lips and bright blue eyes, her body actually _sways_ towards his.

He smiles at her, a gentle curving of lips, with an expression so soft and eyes so full of desire and contentment and…_love_, that something inside of her clicks into place — the missing piece of a broken heart — and as she stands across from him with her chest squeezing so sweetly, she finally gives in to the part of her that she has tried so desperately, so _stupidly,_ to keep from him. She will never love another as completely and endlessly as him. It was inevitable that they end up here, in this moment of eager hands and hungry lips and loving hearts, but _here_ was the only place she wanted to be…_with him_ would be on the only place she would ever want to be.

The last of her resolve crumbles away on that thought and she doesn't give him a _chance _to draw his next breath before she's striding across the room and closing the space between them with another heart-stopping kiss. She's done with waiting, done with this mindlessly frustrating game of dancing around each other. He is her match, in every way — her life, her soul, her very heart — and she is done waiting.

He groans at her assault, arm wrapping around her waist and fingers digging into her hip as he stumbles back into the kitchen table. He curses and she swallows it, urging his mouth open so her tongue can duel with his. She leads with her feelings, follows the pleasure and the wet, wet heat as her fingers tangle back into his hair.

"_Emma_," he breathes, turning her and bracing her against the table.

She pulls restlessly at his long coat, dragging it over his shoulders and down his arms. "Don't," she warns. "Don't ask me if I'm sure." The coat drops to the ground and she works at the buttons on his waistcoat, fingers trembling while she bumps their noses together. "I'm _sure_. I've never been surer of anything in my life."

It's all the encouragement he needs before his mouth is on hers again — coaxing, enticing, _needy_. She revels in it, in _him_, and sits up on the wood because her knees are weak (though she tells herself that it's so she can better divest him of his clothing, of course). When his black shirt is thrown behind her, her hands latch onto his chest, fingertips exploring every inch of skin she can find. He's warm, so _warm_, and she _wants_, wants so much.

She feels the cold metal of his hook at the top of the back of her dress, dimly hears the rip of the fabric before hand and hook are tearing it to fucking _shreds_. She whimpers into his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders before raking down his back as her body trembles beneath him and heat shoots straight into her core. She doesn't even have the mind to think that she really liked that dress.

There's no slow, only scorching, dizzying heat and bruising mouths and impatient fingers. Her dress is tugged down, revealing the lacy black of her bra and he tears his lips away from hers only to close his mouth hungrily over her breast. Emma keens, arching into him as her legs wrap around his waist and she grinds her aching center against the hard bulge of him, seeking to relieve the pressure building low within. _Yes. Oh God, yes._

His tongues teases, stroking endless circles around the tight bud of her nipple and the sensation is _torturous_, clouding her head with need and a dizzying amount pleasure. His fingers slide over her other breast, slipping underneath the edge of the cup to pull it down and his mouth moves to the newly bared skin.

"_Fuck!_" she hisses, body jerking as her fingers find their way back into his hair to tangle there.

His teeth nip at the sensitive skin and Emma's head rolls back as she gives herself over to him, to what he can pull from her. His hand trails down her side possessively while he continues to torment her, fingers kneading a path down her thigh. He shifts and suddenly his hand is _there_, right fucking _there_ and she can't breathe and oh_ God_ and she wasn't prepared and she doesn't even _care_ about the curses and pleas spilling for her lips because the heel of his hand is pressing into that little bundle of nerves and-

The world abruptly shatters around her, stealing her breath as her body coils tight, and white, blinding light flashes behind her closed eyelids. She cries out and he moves to kiss her again, helps her ride out her orgasm while she bucks her hips into his hand. She's panting hard by the time she comes to, green eyes wide on his. He looks smug, pleased with himself that he'd gotten her off with barely even touching her and her control snaps.

She fuses her mouth to his, one arm locking around his neck while her free hand works insistently at the laces of his trousers. She wants him, she _needs _him, all of him inside of her _now_, and when he curses low in his throat as she grasps him, when she unceremoniously shoves her panties aside and guides him into her, the breath explodes out of her lungs because _finally_, fucking _finally_.

He groans again, forehead dropping to her shoulder and his entire body trembles above hers. "_Emma. _Emma, I-"

Her head shakes and she groans with him, trying desperately to create more of that delicious friction. She senses his hesitancy, knows instinctively that he wanted to give her more than _this_ for their first time but she doesn't care because _this_ is perfect.

"Don't," she tells him once more. "Don't-"

"Swan-"

"_Fuck_," she interrupts, clenching around him as her hips press into his. "_Please. _Oh God, please. You have to move. You have to move."

His voice is a gruff, mumbled curse before he simply gives in and denies them no longer. It's a rough, thick slide that stretches her and fills her and she can feel that glorious pressure building again as his lips brand her shoulder with dark, thrilling words. Her teeth scrape at his neck and his body jerks, slamming into her as her name passes through his lips. She cries out because he hits _that spot_ inside her and it's so _fucking good_, _he _feels so fucking good. She tugs on his hair, forces his head back so her mouth can find his once more.

He breaks the kiss again, pulling away slightly so he can see her face while he drives his hips into hers at a brutal pace. Her body starts to coil, starts to make the climb once more, and he must sense it because he shoves her back, pulling her hips over the edge of the table and changing the angle. Her legs wrap around his waist and she pushes up where he pushes down, drawing him in deeper until she walks that thin line between pleasure and pain, until it's just _barely_ too much.

"_Oh God_," she cries, back arching off the table as one of her hands grip at the sharp end of the wood and the other closes over her breast, fingertips circling over the tight, aching bud.

His hand reaches between them, fingers anchoring on her stomach while he drags his thumb over her clit. "Come on, Swan."

She gives something between a gasp and a sob, her body suddenly racing, _straining_ for that golden-tipped peak. He's everywhere — consuming her, overwhelming her, _loving_ her — and she feels him shift again, body pressing delicious over hers so his mouth can crash against hers.

"Let go," he demands. "_Let go._"

And she does, like a bowstring being plucked tight and for one shining, _beautiful_ moment the entire world goes still. Then she's falling…falling, falling, falling…straight into a black abyss as light rushes past her and her body trembles with the ferocity of it. He doesn't stop though, relentless in his movements, keeping her trapped in her mindless wonder and silently insisting for her to go again.

She shakes her head at him in disbelief — body humming, mind cloudy — fairly certain he's trying to kill her, because she couldn't possibly go again, there's no way…but her stupid body betrays her, lured back in by his desires and needs and insatiable _want_ of her.

This time there's no warning, no build-up, just the breathtaking tumble that shoots her out into the stars and leaves her clutching desperately at him. He draws out every last bit of pleasure he can from her before he plummets, body hard and tense as he rides out his own release.

Emma feels like she's floating on a cloud despite the scratch of the wood at her back and the firm weight of him sprawled out above her. She's breathing hard alongside him, tingling everywhere, sore in some places, but feeling deliciously used. By the time her mind catches up to the rest of her, she's dimly aware of the soft kisses he's leaving on her face and her neck and shoulders.

"Bloody hell," he murmurs.

She laughs, she can't help it, not when it's him and she feels this _good_ and _happy_. "At least we made it."

"Did we? I can't be sure, the feeling hasn't returned to the lower half of my anatomy yet."

She grins when he lifts his head to stare down at her. His eyes are soft, his smile is soft, and perhaps it's her sex-addled brain that makes her a little more prone to affection (or maybe it's just because she loves him), but she reaches up to stroke her finger over one of his dimples.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," he replies, smirk absolutely smug and 100% pleased with himself. "You know, I've got to be honest…not exactly how I imagined it-"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She scowls at him, stomach clenching as she tries to comprehend his words.

He chuckles and soothes the frown away with a kiss to her brow. "Hey, hey…easy. I just meant that I imagined a little more…_finesse_ on my part…and certainly _not_ a kitchen table."

She snorts at that because how on _earth_ was she going to be able to sit here from now on like a normal person during mealtimes and _not _remember this?

His lips move down to trail across her cheekbone. "A little more savoring and _thoroughness_." And his mouth hovers over hers, breath dancing enticingly on her lips as the air backs up into her lungs.

_Oohhh. Well. _She swallows thickly,

He laughs lightly at the expression on her face, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth. "It's an open book you are, love."

She rolls her eyes, raking her fingernails lightly up his sides before digging playfully into his ribs and making his squirm against her. "Am not."

He manages to still her hands, pressing them over her head and pinning her in place. "_Oh_, but you are…" He nibbles lightly at her jaw, making _her_ laugh this time. "It's bloody _wrecked_ you'll be the next time, darling."

"Is that a fact?" Her eyes dancing challengingly with amusement, but already images flash into her mind of him making good on his word and _savoring_ the Savior.

She has to commend herself on her restraint and the way she's able to keep her body from shuddering. Killian merely nods, lips finding hers again to seal the promise with a kiss. His mouth coaxes hers open so his tongue can dip inside, making her sigh…making her melt against him — oh, but the man could _kiss_.

He pulls away and a small sound of protest sounds in the back of her throat. He chuckles again and bumps their noses together affectionately. "By the way…you told me you loved me." His voice is quiet, awed, and makes her gut clench.

_Oohhh. Well._ Emma presses her lips together, searching his eyes. She doesn't remember it, but she was so lost in him she can't be sure she didn't. She lays there — an _incredibly_ disheveled (she's still got her clothes half on for Christ's sake), aching _mess_ — and waits for the regret to come, waits for the fear to rise up and close her off and revert her back to walls and guarded hearts, but as she stares up at him, at the contentment and reverence and _love_ in his gorgeous blue eyes and his too-handsome face, all she can feel is complete and utter peace.

She feels safe and cherished and happy. She feels _home_.

"Well, I do," she tells him softly.

His smile is _devastating_ and it's the last thing she sees before he's lowering his head to kiss her again.

_Took you long enough_. He doesn't say it out loud but she knows it's what he means, so when she kisses him back, she murmurs the words against his lips one more time.

_I love you._

_Fin_


End file.
